


Comfort

by PhasicDreamer



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:06:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhasicDreamer/pseuds/PhasicDreamer
Summary: He's here, he's safe, and everything is okay.





	

_“Monster.”_

Shiro grunts, ribs stinging from the hit he failed to evade. The practice gladiator rears its arm back to strike.

_“Gladiator.”_

He ducks, grabbing its arm mid-swing. Using its own momentum, knees bent, he toss the dummy over his shoulder. It crashes to the floor with a dull metallic thud.

_“Champion.”_

It doesn't even have a chance to get up before he's on it, right arm pulsating a threatening purple. A quick slash, the burning of metal, and the battle's won.

“Shiro...?”

He blinks, the Galra gladiator ring fading, leaving him standing in the Altean training room with his hand still buried in a practice dummy's chest.

Startled, as if just realizing where he was, he pulls his arm back. The Galra tech still glows brightly, still thirsting for blood, and he's quick to power it down. He stares down at his palm, long after the purple has dimmed to black and silver, but your voice manages to draw him back again, “Shiro...”

You're standing just behind him, still dressed in your sleepwear, brows furrowed in concern and sleep lingering in your eyes.

Shiro huffs tiredly, left arm wiping the sweat from his forehead, “Hey there, what are you still doing up?”

You step forward, frowning slightly, “I could be asking you the same thing. It's nearly morning, Shiro.”

He hesitates, gaze flickering to the destroyed bot, “I... couldn't sleep.”

When you don't respond he moves to dispose of the dummy, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him. The black tank top he's wearing allows your fingers to glide smoothly across his scarred skin, the digits trailing from his shoulder all the way down to grab onto his flesh fingers.

You pull, voice a soft command, “Come.”

“I can't,” he protests firmly, opposite to the way his body follows so willingly. “I have to clean up.”

“We can clean up in the morning,” you say gently, always gently.

He doesn't argue anymore and you don't speak even as you lead him past his room to yours, the only light in said room coming from the ship's glowing blue accents. You finally let go of his hand and push him to sit on the edge of your unmade bed.

“Wait here,” you say, disappearing through a door on the other side of the room.

There's the running of water and a moment later you emerge holding a wet wash cloth. You sit beside him, your knees brushing, and raise the damp material to his forehead.

You clean the sweat from his skin in silence, eyes focused on the task at hand, while his remain transfixed to the shadows that outline your face in the dim blue lighting. On any other occasion he'd force himself to look away, face tinged the lightest of pinks, but for once he allows himself the pleasure of simply basking in your presence.

“There,” you say after a few more minutes of serene silence, pulling away suddenly to dispose of the rag before returning to crawl up the bed behind him. He twists at the waist to watch you with a single brow raised in question. You tuck your legs under the blanket, but stay sitting up, looking at him expectantly.

He sighs, knowing what it is you're asking, “I appreciate all you're doing, really I do, but I can't-”

“Yes, you can,” you interrupt him softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You tug him back and eventually he submits, letting you pull him to lay beside you.

He expects you to release him once satisfied with his cooperation, but instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, palm flat on the back of his head to guide his forehead to your collarbone.

Shiro tenses out of shock, eyes wide and hands hovering awkwardly above your waist, unsure of what to do. Feeling his hesitation you begin to rake your fingers through his hair soothingly, your other hand rubbing smooth circles into his back, and whisper quietly into the air above his head, “Relax Shiro, everything's okay. You're here now, you're safe.”

The feeling of your hands grounds him, allowing his mind to stay here in the present where he is safe, but it's your voice that eventually urges him to rest his palms on your lower back, his arms circling your waist to hold you close. He forces himself to clear his head and match his breathing with yours, the steady beat of your heart lulling him to the very edge of sleep.

It's when you start humming, a mindless tune he wants to remember but can't quiet seem to recall, that he finally let's himself submit to you completely. He curls up, legs tangling with your own and arms pulling himself flushed against your chest, and for the first time in days he feels completely at ease.

He's here, he's safe, and everything is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drafts for at least half a year so it's not very good, sorry bout that, but I just wanted to get a Voltron fic done.


End file.
